The Thief
by cabinetofcuriousity
Summary: Sherlock seems to have met his match when he runs into an experienced antiquities thief who is all but a bit rusty. Feedback is always welcome and might encourage me to continue.


_Things were getting a bit out of sorts lately._ She thought as she took a deep breath; slipping her whole body underneath the water. She didn't like when things got strange, reminded her too much of the past. It reminded her too much of Cardiff and the massive disaster that turned out to be. Opening her eyes underneath the water, she felt a slight sting but after the moment passed she was comfortable again. She stared at the ceiling, feeling like a great weight sat on her chest. She couldn't breathe. _What was she going to do?_ She slipped her back towards the top of the tub abruptly, gasping for breath. Her eyes began to water as she leaned back once more. The door to her bathroom was wide open; she stared down the hallway, her eyes resting upon an antique vase making its home on her immaculate floorboards_. I shouldn't have done this again._

The small blonde climbed the stairs leading out from the tube, a vomit inducing nervousness creeping up her throat. She had been doing this for years and had _never _felt like this. Her attitude about this sort of thing had always reined confident; she was the best of the best in her field…maybe that's why he picked her. But then again, he was rather peculiar himself. She had to tell herself he wasn't looking to destroy her just to accept his proposition. The money was just too much to resist. Abigail Abernathy is who her coworkers knew her as, respectably. A name she would have never chosen for herself but he had insisted upon it. She pushed her thick black frames onto her nose as she approached the museum. Her stomach dropped as she noticed police cars out front. Surely, they weren't here to arrest her? She was much too clever for that and…wouldn't they have just come to her home? The museum actually had her correct address. Probably idiotic on her part but she_ had_ been trying to make a clean start.

The petite blonde was rather unnoticeable in the sea of workers who were employed at the museum. Small, although a bit curvy, she pretended to be shy and reserved. She never went out with coworkers, never flirted (_although_ there were a nice few in there she'd like to get to know, in more ways than one), and always worked hard and never made any waves. Her blue eyes and round cheeks made her appear innocent. In her late 20's her wardrobe consisted of normal business attire and she always wore her hair back in a bun, she was always under the radar. She was Abigail Abernathy, an intelligent woman although reserved who just moved to London after spending time collecting archaeological samples in Southern Africa. No friends, no family, hell, even her English accent seemed to have everyone fooled.

Abigail took a deep breath as she swung open the door. The museum was a mob scene of police and investigators, they seemed to be asking questions and poking around quite a bit. _She was going to throw up by the end of the day, most definitely_. It seemed the media had yet to catch on but it would only be a few more hours before they appeared, making themselves known. Abigail attempted to appear confused as her favorite coworker (the girl's name escaping her at this moment in time) ran over to her, "Abby!" she snapped in a hushed voice, "Come over here!" Looking utterly bewildered, Abigail followed her to her desk off to the side of the main entrance. "What's going on?" "Someone broke in and stole the new vase, you know the one from the Ming Dynasty!" the girl said sadly, shaking her head. Abigail covered her mouth in fabricated shock, "Oh my God!"

"You won't believe it either but they've got the consulting detective on the job!" the girl said eyes wide with admiration, pointing to two men in the corner. Abigail looked confused, "The consulting who?" "_Oh_ you've never heard of Sherlock Holmes? Brilliant! He's the one who proved that Vermeer was a fake a few years ago…Absolutely brilliant. I assume the man with him is his partner…or boyfriend." Abigail looked back at the two men and then to her coworker, nodding, "Well…it's just such a shame. It would have brought in so many visitors…" Abigail sighed, feigning disappointment, "But hey, I've got to go see Dr. Ravada. See what he wants me to do…in all of this mess." Her coworker nodded, she turned on her heel and made her way past some more investigators.

Abigail weaved in out of the crowd, catching pieces of their conversations, feeling relieved. Most of the investigators thought it must've been one of the surrounding Chinese gangs in London, who specialize in antiquities theft. _No one_ could've guessed it was a small blonde woman with a penchant for antiquities theft. She smirked to herself, feeling quite smug, relishing in how far her sticky fingers had gotten her again. She wasn't so bad at this after all; Cardiff was just a fluke, a one-time mistake that would never be repeated. Abigail felt the blood rush to her head and remembered how much she had enjoyed…rather _loved_ the antiquities "business". She was kidding herself if she thought she could get out, it was in her blood. Plus _he _owned her now and she didn't think she could get away from him.

She shook away the anxiety of her existing thoughts, looking up just as she ran smack into what appeared to be a tall tree wearing a wool overcoat. She gasped looking clearly annoyed (unreasonably so) and spoke without thinking. "_DO YOU MIND_?" she snapped, letting her accent slip to be replaced with something the man could discern as immediately American. He was a tall man, a giant compared to Abigail. Thin and clearly perturbed, the collar of his overcoat popped up around his neck. His blue eyes bore a hole into her; he seemed to be looking right through her, discerning all her secrets and lies. He seemed to see all her hopes and dreams, failures and triumphs. She suddenly felt sick, realizing abruptly that she had dropped her accent. This man was staring at her with that accusatory look of the director in Cardiff. Oh God. _It was Cardiff all over again._

She coughed into her hand looking away, glancing at his companion. A short man who appeared a bit confused, who was wearing the most God awful sweater she had ever seen. She looked back towards her tree man. Reality suddenly hit her like a ton of bricks; _this_ was the consulting detective and his partner (or boyfriend). She looked at him nervously, slapping her accent back on, "Um, sorry mate. It's been an awful day and the crowd in here doesn't help. Please accept my sincerest apologies." Abigail looked from him to his partner again, a pained smile on her face, "Well, good day." With that she walked back towards her department, deciding it was best to ditch Dr. Ravada and find an exit ASAP.

Trying to keep her cool, she crept down towards the door leading to storage. Her bag felt like she was carrying a ton as she looked around her trying to remain unnoticed and not appear nervous. By the time she made it to the door, the hallway was basically empty. She sighed anxiously, swiping her identification card and slipping into storage. On the other side of storage was an emergency exit. She began to sprint towards the door, nervously fiddling with her keys. _I WON'T go to jail_. _I WON'T go to jail_. She kept repeating her favorite mantra over and over again to herself as she fiddled with the wires to deactivate the alarm. After a few unsuccessful attempts, adding up to at least ten minutes longer than her record time, she was able to disarm the door's alarm.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" she cried to herself, feeling relieved. By this time she had completely dropped her accent, ready to hop on a train to anywhere to get away from this new mess she had just made for herself. Just as she was going to push the door open, she felt someone grab her wrist. Her heart jumping into her throat, she spun around to see the man in the wool overcoat looming over her. She felt like she was drowning in her own lungs. Slipping back into her accent, "Can I help you with anything sir?" she inquired innocently, making her hand into a fist. "Y'know..you're not really allowed to be down here without permission." Abigail looked up into his eyes as she saw a slight smirk appear on his lips, "Perhaps, it's _you_ who should not be down here?" He replied smugly in a harsh voice, which seemed to tease her. His voice rang in her ears and she could feel her blood curdle at that moment.

Abigail felt anger surge throughout her body. The looming tree man detective was_ not_ going to be the one to take her down today. She sighed, letting her body tense, tears starting to roll down her cheeks, "I'm…I'm so sorry…." She began to sob, shaking ever so slightly, "My mother is sick and she needs money...I…I just didn't know what else to do…" He looked down at her, his expression dark and serious, "You have no immediate family in the area, Miss Abernathy.." She felt her heart hop into her throat again and panic rage throughout her body. Quickly she wiped away her tears, smirking up at him, "Can't say I didn't try." With that, she swung her fist up as high as it would go, ultimately connecting with the detective's nose.

She giggled a little, slightly amused but then she noticed him fall to the floor on his knees and she felt sick to her stomach once again. This wasn't supposed to happen but damn if she didn't have a great right hook. She looked to see him writhing in pain before her, blood leaking down his hands. "I'm sorry…" she said quietly, shame sneaking its way throughout her body. Although he was a looming tree man detective, his face was quite perfect and delicate. Like a painting she had stabbed a knife into, ripping its way down a canvas, and completely destroying its beauty and wonder. "I wasn't really planning to do this but _he_ made me. Don't hate me for it…" And with that, she slipped out the door and began running as quickly as she could down the street, hoping to disappear into the crowd making their way further downtown.


End file.
